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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23947153">and eat it too</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waywarder/pseuds/Waywarder'>Waywarder</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>First Kiss, Good Omens Lockdown, Ineffable Idiots, Love Confessions</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 01:08:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,562</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23947153</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waywarder/pseuds/Waywarder</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Good night, angel.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Aziraphale set the phone down gently. He frowned. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>He’d panicked.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Again.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Crowley had offered him exactly what he’d been hoping for when he’d picked up the phone, and Aziraphale had balked in the face of it.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>It wasn’t that he couldn’t be brave. He could! He’d really fancied himself quite courageous when it had come to admonishing the awful brigands who’d broken into his shop. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>But to tell Crowley how he felt…</i>
</p>
<p>My contribution to the new and beautiful genre of, "But what happened AFTER the lockdown phone call?"</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale &amp; Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>279</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Good Omens Lockdown fics</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>and eat it too</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Good night, angel.”</p>
<p>Crowley set down the phone and felt immediately filled with the desire to, I don’t know, fucking swallow the damned thing whole.</p>
<p>FUCK.</p>
<p>“‘SLITHER OVER, WATCH YOU EAT CAKE?’” he roared to himself, furious. “THAT WAS YOUR BIG LINE?!”</p>
<p>Crowley groaned, unable to contain his embarrassment. It had seemed like a smooth offer at the time, but:</p>
<p>Of course Aziraphale wouldn’t be bored and miserable. Of course Aziraphale would be perfectly content in this situation- no customers, unlimited reading time, all the fucking bundt cake he could stand apparently. </p>
<p>Of course Aziraphale would be happier without him. </p>
<p><i>But he called you,</i> whispered a treacherous, little hopeful voice in his brain. <i>Why did he call you?</i></p>
<p>“Because we’re friendsss,” he hissed out loud, quelling his own faint optimism. </p>
<p>Which was wonderful, it was. But, since The Afternoon at the Ritz, there were still the fond little glances, the occasional touch of the hand, the soft delight in Aziraphale’s tone as he exclaimed his name, as though the word “Crowley” was the most beautiful that the angel had ever encountered. Crowley didn’t have the penchant for examining a text and picking out clues the way that Aziraphale did, but even his rudimentary literary skills had observed something like a theme over the past six thousand years. </p>
<p>Crowley pictured Aziraphale for the thousandth time, alone in his bookshop, surrounded by pages in cakes. Probably listening to classical music, and all curled up, cozy as anything. Crowley frowned. He wouldn’t ruin it. He’d really meant it, after all. He’d pop over in an instant if he’d thought that’s what Aziraphale wanted. He’d bring him as much wine or anything he wanted as he could manage, which would be a rather impressive amount. He’d offer to try his hand in the kitchen, and take over some of the baking so that Aziraphale had even more time to read. </p>
<p>And they’d drink and they’d talk and Crowley would watch Aziraphale eat cake and the noises of appreciation that the angel would make would very nearly destroy him and maybe…</p>
<p>It was the same heavy “maybe” that hung in the air every time Crowley set foot into Aziraphale’s presence. Maybe tonight. Maybe this time. Maybe he wants it too. Maybe maybe maybe.</p>
<p>Six thousand years of “maybe.”</p>
<p>Crowley was exhausted.</p>
<p>Maybe it was best to go ahead and take that nap now.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>“Good night, angel.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale set the phone down gently. He frowned. </p>
<p>He’d panicked.</p>
<p>Again.</p>
<p>Crowley had offered him exactly what he’d been hoping for when he’d picked up the phone, and Aziraphale had balked in the face of it.</p>
<p>It wasn’t that he couldn’t be brave. He could! He’d really fancied himself quite courageous when it had come to admonishing the awful brigands who’d broken into his shop. </p>
<p>But to tell Crowley how he felt… </p>
<p>Well, that was another matter entirely.</p>
<p>Aziraphale cast his gaze out of a window. The empty streets were still so gloomy and unsettling. This wasn’t the world that they’d fought so hard to save. Aziraphale suddenly felt very small and foolish for ever thinking that, even in saving it, he could pretend to have something like control over the world. That it would never get out of hand again, that forces of not even Heaven or Hell would ever threaten it again.</p>
<p>This was usually the point in his thinking when he suddenly found himself desperate to scurry off and bake a new cake. </p>
<p>But tonight he forced himself to continue to consider the humans. To acknowledge their bravery in this face of something that surely felt like the end of the world. He’d read some of the stories on the computer, after all, as many as he could stand. The ways in which humans were still fighting to connect, and to be as together as they possibly could.</p>
<p>The feeling of love was quite overwhelming. It was really rather wonderful. </p>
<p>Aziraphale huffed a little to himself. “Against the rules indeed, you sorry excuse for an angel. Are you the ethereal being who faced down Satan himself or aren’t you?”</p>
<p>He paused only to assemble a selection of slices of his most prized baked goods, and put them in a nice, little box. </p>
<p>They might want a nibble after they talked.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Crowley was already in his pyjamas in bed when he heard the knock on the door. </p>
<p>On his bedroom door.</p>
<p>“No great mystery there,” Crowley mumbled under his breath as he swung his legs out of bed and padded over to the door. Who else could it possibly be?</p>
<p>But why?</p>
<p>That little beat of hope picked up in his heart.</p>
<p>Sure enough, there was Aziraphale, smiling that impossible smile and clutching a pink box.</p>
<p>“Hello, angel,” Crowley drawled.</p>
<p>“Yes, hello,” Aziraphale said, fingers twitching a little against the box that so surely contained cakes upon cakes. </p>
<p>“Thought this was against the rules.”</p>
<p>“Well, it is. But we’ve broken them before together, haven’t we?”</p>
<p>“We have at that.”</p>
<p>“I was hoping we might… talk? If you’d be open to it.”</p>
<p>Crowley opened the door wider, and ushered Aziraphale inside. </p>
<p>“And what would you like to talk about tonight, angel? Going to explain to me again why <i>Persuasion</i> is the superior Jane Austen novel?”</p>
<p>He was feeling itchy and combative. Eager to put a bandage over his earlier betrayal of earnestness.</p>
<p>“Well, it certainly is,” Aziraphale sniffed. He looked so adorably ridiculous, standing there nervously with his pink box. “But no. I wanted to talk about The Other Thing.”</p>
<p>“The Other Thing?” Crowley frowned.</p>
<p>“Yes,” Aziraphale breathed, waggling his eyesbrows a little now as though whatever daft thing he was talking about should have made all the sense in the world to Crowley.</p>
<p>“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, put that down,” Crowley snapped, moving forward to take the cake box away from Aziraphale. But Aziraphale was quick. As soon as Crowley’s arms were within reach, Aziraphale’s fingertips reached out to take hold of them, grasping them as he palms held the cake box steady.</p>
<p>There they stood, in Crowley’s bedroom, only a pink cake box between them now.</p>
<p>“The Other Thing,” Aziraphale repeated, voice quite firm now.</p>
<p>“Ah,” Crowley swallowed, thinking that he was beginning to get the picture. He raised his own eyebrows now, and flicked his uncovered eyes down once to their joined arms before looking back up to meet Aziraphale’s gaze. The angel nodded.</p>
<p>“That Thing,” Crowley murmured. “Thought you didn’t like to talk about it.”</p>
<p>“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale tightened his grip ever so slightly on the demon’s forearms. “I think it’s just… well, sometimes, after all this time, what words could possibly capture it, my dear?”</p>
<p>Crowley knew what he meant, but still:</p>
<p>“Well, then this is going to be an awfully short conversation, angel.”</p>
<p>“The humans are so brave, Crowley,” Aziraphale went on, that familiar stubborn determination settling over his features. “I don’t know that I’ll get it right, but I’d like to try to be brave as well.”</p>
<p>“Stop that,” Crowley protested. “You fought off burglars with a talking-to and cake! You’re the bravest one I know. Always have been.”</p>
<p>“Not nearly so brave as you, my dear,” Aziraphale argued right back. “You’ve been telling me for so long, and I’ve just been too obstinate to hear you.”</p>
<p>“Angel,” Crowley interrupted him. “If this is going where I think this is going, can we please set down the fucking cake box?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale laughed at that, nervous and wobbly but sincerely pleased. He released his grasp on Crowley, and wandered in the direction of Crowley’s nightstand. He set down the pink box just as a pair of long, tentative, hopeful arms snaked around his waist.</p>
<p>“This all right?” murmured a set of lips against his ear. </p>
<p>Aziraphale sighed. It was. So much more than.</p>
<p>Aziraphale twisted himself around in Crowley’s arms, bringing his hands up to either side of the beautiful demon’s face. It all seemed like such a gargantuan, impossible thing, but when it came down to it, they were the four easiest words he’d ever said.</p>
<p>“I love you, Crowley.”</p>
<p>Crowley blinked once, eyes growing wide. Then he broke out into the widest grin that Aziraphale had ever seen on that handsome face.</p>
<p>“Say it again.”</p>
<p>“No, you have to say it back to me now!”</p>
<p>“You’ve already said that I’ve been telling you for years. Say it again.”</p>
<p>“You’ve been ‘telling me,’ yes, but you haven’t actually said the words.”</p>
<p>Crowley threw his head back and laughed before squeezing his arms even tighter around Aziraphale.</p>
<p>“Aziraphale.”</p>
<p>“Yes, Crowley?”</p>
<p>“I love you, too.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale smiled, and there were tears beginning to shine in his eyes now. “Oh, good. I’d really, really hoped so.”</p>
<p>“Aziraphale.”</p>
<p>“Yes, Crowley?”</p>
<p>“Can I kiss you now?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale nodded, suddenly a bit breathless. Crowley leaned forward and pressed his lips softly to Aziraphale’s, and a wonderful shudder ran up and down the angel’s body.</p>
<p>He didn’t know that anything could be so much sweeter than cake.</p>
<p>Crowley pulled away just a bit, keeping his face close enough to be able to nuzzle against Aziraphale’s soft hair. </p>
<p>“So,” Crowley grinned again. “Cake now, I suppose?”</p>
<p>This time Aziraphale pulled away so that he could make direct eye contact with Crowley as he said:</p>
<p>“Do you know, I think I’m rather in the mood for something else.”</p>
<p>“Anything you like, angel.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you so much for reading! You're doing so good! I hope that we get to read these all day long.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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